Silent Labyrinth
by Nameless She
Summary: A crossover between Silent Hill and Labyrinth. While searching for the birth certificate of one of her charges, Sarah finds herself drawn into Silent Hill. Friends and foes aren't what they seem. Will her time in the Labyrinth help her make it out alive?
1. Prologue

(A/N: I own Nothing. The Labyrinth and Silent Hill do not belong to me in any way, shape, or form. No profit is made. I'm poor. Please don't sue.)

Silent Labyrinth

"If I don't have it by Monday morning, you're fired," he said.

Mild mannered social worker, Sarah Williams was embroiled in a bitter battle with one of the most frustrating men on Earth. Her boss. He slammed his fist on her desk, knocking over the blue coffee cup she used to hold pens, scattering them off the desk and onto the floor. She had been in the middle of an important phone call when he'd burst into her office, not even bothering to shut the door before he started yelling. A few coworkers passed by, peeping in at the noise, while others clustered at the desk directly in line with her door. She fought back her anger but stared him in the eye.

"There's nothing else I can do," she said.

It was all there, medical records, parental waivers, consent forms, recommendations, and the foster parent's application for adoption. The file folder was almost as full as it could get, with just the one document missing. And no matter what she had done, she couldn't find it.

"He can't finalize the adoption without it," her boss said.

"You mean he won't finalize it," she countered, "And I don't understand why; he's done it before."

He rubbed his temples, sighing heavily.

"And this time, he needs the birth certificate," he said, "He wouldn't tell me why, and it's not my place to question. It's the law, and it's there to protect the child. Sarah, please."

"I don't know where else to look," she said, "There's no record of her anywhere. The hospital was condemned; the whole town was condemned. There's nothing left."

"If you don't find it and the adoption falls through," he said, "I will have to fire you."

Fury. Her vision clouded nd she felt her heart pounding against her rib cage.

"You can't fire me," she said, "It's not---"

She broke off suddenly, chilled by the cold look that flashed through his eyes, by the anger and disappointment warring there.

"I know," he said, "And if this were the first time, I'd be inclined to let you go with a warning, but I asked you if you could handle this. You said, no problem. You promised me this would go smoothly. You said not to worry, and now my boss is breathing down my neck."

The small cluster of people peering in at her had grown to half the office. She felt her face flush with embarrassment, and opened her mouth to argue with him, to let him know his manners were sorely lacking. But as she started to cut short his rant, the girl in question appeared, foster father in tow. She was smiling, a rare occurance as of late, and stared curiously at the cluster of people and then at Sarah.

"It's not fair for her," she added.

All of the fight drained out of her, and her boss gave her a wan smile. The little girl and her foster father sat in the orange plastic chairs in the waiting area, and the cluster of people finally started to disperse.

"She shouldn't be punished because you couldn't do your job," he said, "I know it isn't fair, but that's life."

He was right and she hated it.

"What should I do?" she asked.

He took a deep breath and stared at her desk.

"You're going to have to go to the birth mother's last known residence," he said, "and if it isn't there, the hospital, the courthouse, and every other place it could be."

"Except for her last known residence, I went to all of those places," she protested, "The courthouse doesn't even-"

"Not the Brahams Courthouse," he interrupted.

"Oh," she said, the full weight of what she was about to do, hitting her hard.

While the girl sat, waiting, Sarah felt a pang of guilt.

The child, Laura, wore a new dress and her hair was neatly done up for the occasion. After several long, lonely years, a brief battle with cancer, and a lifetime of loss, she finally had a home, a father, and a bright future. Not many case workers had been willing to work for her adoption; and Father-to-be James Sunderland was a harder sell than most. He was widowed with barely a middle class income, and no experience raising children.

Sarah had championed him, and the adoption was supposed to be finalized.

Only...

Sarah chewed her lower lip as she picked up the thick file folder from her desk. Laura looked up, catching sight of Sarah and smiling. She tugged on the sleeve of the man sitting beside her. The tall, blond man turned, his face lighting up with a rare smile.

"Ms. Williams," he called out, standing, "What's the news? Am I a father yet?"

Sarah forced herself to smile, her hands still fumbling with the file.

"Hello, Mr. Sunderland," she began.

"Please, it's just James," he said, "After all you've done for us, I'd really appreciate it."

He reached for her free hand, squeezing it gently.

"James," she said, her heart sinking further, "I'd like to speak with you a bit in private."

His smile faded.

"Is something wrong?"

Both father and daughter stared at her.

"It's nothing to worry about," she said, "but I do want to let you know that there's a problem."

Laura's eyes widened, "If it's nothing to worry about, why can't I hear?"

Her voice rose sharply, tears spilling down her face. James knelt beside her, a hand resting on her shoulder.

"Hey, hey," he said, "Give her a chance to answer you first. I'm sure it's not the end of the world."

Laura sniffled, sending Sarah a murderous glare.

"It's just that," Sarah stopped, her mind suddenly empty.

She took a deep breath, her eyes locking with James'.

"First of all, I'm taking care of it even as we speak."

"Ok," James said, looking confused, "What are you taking care of?"

"I still haven't found her birth certificate,"she said in one breath.

He paled, "What?"

She felt like she was falling; her breath wouldn't come. And the shock reflecting in Laura's eyes made her feel two centimeters tall and rapidly shrinking.

"There's nothing on file anywhere," she continued, "I can't even find a copy."

"What does that mean?" he asked, his voice barely a whisper.

"The judge won't finalize the adoption with out it."

He sank into the chair, his head buried in his hands.

"But don't worry," she said, "Please. I have it all under control."

She started to go to his side, but one look from Laura stopped her.

"That's not 'nothing'. You don't even know where to look," the girl said accusingly, "You messed it up and you aren't even going to fix it!"

She stood, her eyes wet with tears, fists clenched, ready to strike out at everyone. Life had been cruel to her, making a bitter old cynic out of an eight year old girl.

"There are two places the original birth certificate could be," Sarah said, "I'll try each one and every place in between until I find it. I promise you will be father and daughter by Monday morning."

James looked up at her. His eyes were red but he flashed her a hint of that rare smile.

"Is it nearby then?" he asked, "They never told me where she was born, where she comes from."

She smiled.

"It's about an hour a way," she said, " The town was abandoned years ago but the buildings still stand. You've probably heard of it; it's called Silent Hill."

He stared, his eyes getting bigger, his face getting paler, and his hands shaking.

"You can't go there," he said, "Even for our sake, you can't go there."

She stepped back.

"I have to," she said, "There's no other place left to look."

His eyes flashed.

"Promise me you won't go," he said.

"James, it's okay," she said.

He stood.

"No, it's not," he said.

She took another step back as he moved towards her. He grabbed her arms before she could even think to move and shook her.

"James, let go," she ordered, pulling away.

But his grip tightened.

"Stay away from Silent Hill," he shouted.

From somewhere behind her she heard footsteps and shouts. The security guard, Mr. Cartland, appeared to her left, grabbing James under his arms while Sarah's supervisor hurried to her side to untangle his fingers from her arms.

"Mr. Sunderland," he pleaded, "Let go now! Think of how this looks to the judge!"

Mr. Cartland pulled hard, twisted, and James lost hold. Sarah ducked and scrambled out of reach, but as she moved she could hear the sobs. James slumped to the ground, his body shaking. Laura watched from several feet away, another social worker at her side.

"Would you like to have him arrested?"

She rubbed her arms gingerly.

"No, no," she said, "I'm fine. He didn't hurt me."

Mr. Cartland gave her a dirty look but retreated, muttering something under his breath. Her supervisor followed suit, returning to his office a few feet away. She noticed he opened his blinds once inside and left his door open as well.

"James," she began, "Talk to me, please."

He shook his head.

"I'm sorry," he said, "I don't know what that was."

That pang of guilt grew, twisting and biting at her stomach.

"You're worried that this is all going to fall through and you're scared you're going to loose Laura," she said, "But that's okay. I understand."

"No," he said, "You don't understand."

"James-"

"Haven't you done enough?" Laura asked, freeing herself from the social worker to stand beside him, "This is all your fault."

The girl glared at Sarah.

"It is my fault," she said slowly, "But I'm going to fix it. I have the whole weekend."

Laura snorted.

"You'll fail."

James took Laura's hand, his face clouded and his eyes glassy.

"Walk away," he said, "No one will blame you."

The two turned to leave, and Sarah felt a wave of despair wash over her. She couldn't let them leave like that, despondent and hopeless. They had to understand!

"I won't just walk away," she said, "I will fix this. By Monday, you'll be a family. I promise."

"We already are," Laura snapped.

James gave her a sad smile and the two walked away.


	2. The Church

The fog hung over the land, thick and heavy like nightfall, and in the distance, the faint shuffling sounds of feet, dragging along the dirt disturbed the silence. To her left, a crumbling graveyard, to her right, a church with broken windows. The path ended here, but if she turned back a few yards, she could continue along the second path. The shuffling sound came from somewhere back there, behind her.

She hurried to the church door, praying it was unlocked.

The door stuck fast as she twisted the doorknob and pulled hard. She tried again, bracing one hand against the rough, unpainted wall. The door creaked in protest, but slowly it opened, dust showering her head, cobwebs sweeping her face.

"Atchoo!"

She swiped at the cobwebs and stumbled across the thresh hold. The only light came from the daylight pouring through broken window panes and the open door. Otherwise, the room was dark and empty. A few dusty church pews and a pulpit had been pushed together at the far end of the room. A chalkboard leaned against the wall, white handwriting scrawled across its surface, virtually illegible. A candelabra with burned out candle stubs sat directly in front of it on the pulpit.

She started to turn, to leave the dusty tomb of a church, but stopped as the long length of white caught her eye. The unburned candle lay on it's side beside the candelabra. It wasn't a flashlight, but it would do nicely. She tested the floorboards with her foot, gently easing her weight onto it before hurrying to retrieve her prize. She tucked it into her purse, in the small pouch beside her handgun.

She glanced at the blackboard.

The white letters were smudged and hidden under dust, but Sarah could make out a few words here and there.

"...Sit thou silent, and-------- in-- darkness. O daughter ---th- Ch-ld---;for thou shalt no more be called the Lady of Kingdoms...Isaiah 47:5..."

The rest trailed off into smears and smudges and nonsense.

"Strange," she said.

She wondered what it meant and why it had been written and left on the blackboard. Such a strange and cryptic message, but the thought lasted seconds before she heard it. Behind her, a loud Thump-whack! Thump-whack! She jumped, startled, and turned. The sound was louder each time and closer, thump-whack! A shadow darkened the doorway and a low, unearthly moan disturbed the silence. The creature shuffled inside on two legs, a long tail slapping the ground behind after each shuffling step. It's skin was the bluish color of a drowning victim, and it's head was misshapen and deformed, with no eyes, no nose, and only a few jagged teeth for a mouth.

Her breath caught in her throat as she stared at the thing. In all her life, during all her strange little adventures, she had never seen anything like that. Even Underground, even in her darkest place, the creatures had never looked like 'that'. The thing moaned again, louder, almost angry as it moved towards her, shuffling faster.

Her heart shot into her throat as a thought crossed her mind, the thought of just what the creature intended to do when it reached her. One hand fumbled into her purse, her fingers brushing against the candle before closing around the hand gun.

Yellow slime dripped from the creatures jagged teeth, oozing like a thick pus. It's tail slapped the ground as it reared its head up. The moan that it let loose filled the room, high and mournful and starving.

She pulled th gun free and aimed at the creature, at the sorry excuse for a head.

But it moved faster than she'd have guessed it could, it's teeth digging into her leg in one sharp bite. Pain and revulsion overwhelmed her; she felt her stomach fight against that nice lunch she's had not an hour earlier. The creature pulled her, tore at her leg, and she hit it with the butt of the gun. The creature let go, stumbling back, roaring, and she fired almost blindly towards the sound.

One. Two Three.

The creature lurched, it's body going slack as it fell to the ground dead.

A sharp pain cut through her chest and a haze fell over her eyes, reminding her to take a breath. She waited for what felt like forever, her lungs filling with air and then exhaling, one hand pressed against the bite, stemming the flow of blood, while the other kept the gun aimed at the lifeless body.

The creature twitched.

Her finger squeezed the trigger.

A black pool spread beneath the body. It was dead.

The gun shook in her hand and she hurried around the body and into the light. Floorboards protested loudly beneath her feet, but held her weight. Outside it was quiet and still, though the shadows that darkened the graveyard seemed more ominous than before. She ignored her pain and hurried to retrace her steps, to find the path that would lead her into town and hopefully safety as well.

But after a few minutes of walking when the town came into view, she realized just how foolish that hope had been.


	3. Into the Town

Her footsteps echoed loudly.

The town of Silent Hill was dark and crumbling and silent. The buildings in the distance were gray, their windows dark and broken; not a chimney spilled smoke to the sky. The pavement was badly in need of repair. In some places, the cracks were several feet wide and several yards deep. Even if she had been able to drive into town, she would not have been able to drive any further on the broken terrain.

"Cozy, isn't it?"

She shrieked at the voice, her hand fumbling for her gun even as the man appeared beside her laughing. She took a deep breath and fought to compose herself, glaring at his trembling form.

"I didn't mean to scare you," he said.

"Well you did!" she snapped.

He shrugged and offered no apology, choosing instead to stand still, laughter oozing from his eyes. He was taller than Sarah by a foot or more and had he not been so unhealthily thin, he might have been attractive. Dark shadows rested beneath his blue eyes and his skin was pale and almost yellow. His hair was blond and dirty and cut unevenly to frame his face.

"I wouldn't go in there if I was you," he said.

His voice was softly accented, but strong and sure.

"I didn't ask if you would," she said, harsher than she meant, "But why not?"

Again, he shrugged. His eyes darkened at the rebuff, and he looked away. A shovel was slung over one shoulder, while a bag was tucked under his arm.

"I'm sorry," she said, "I didn't mean to snap at you. It's been a long morning."

He sniffed in distaste.

"Doesn't matter," he said, "I've work to do."

He dropped his bag and turned to a low mound of dirt beside him. He slid the shovel off his shoulder and started to dig, narrowly missing a patch of white flowers. She waited a moment for him to continue, but when it became apparent he had finished talking, she pressed on.

"My name is Sarah Williams," she said.

She paused, giving him a chance to introduce himself. He ignored her and kept shoveling dirt, tossing it over his shoulder.

"And you are," she prompted.

He snorted, "Busy. But you can call me Jared."

"Well, Jared, can you tell me how to get through Silent Hill?" she asked.

He continued to shovel, quickening his pace.

"I need to find a place called Annie's Bar," she said, "And I need to find Alchemeilla Hospital. Do you know how to get to either of them?"

He turned a bit and forced the shovel into a cluster of white flowers, uprooting and destroying them.

"Why are you killing those flowers?" she asked, "They're beautiful."

Something nagged at the back of her mind as she knelt beside the broken flowers, her fingertips caressing the soft petals. A clear liquid seeped from the gash in one of the stems. She let it drop onto her finger and slide along her skin.

The man glanced down at her, disdainfully.

"It's called White Claudia," he said, "It's a powerful hallucinogen. Townsfolk used to make a drug out of it called PVP."

She dropped the flower and hurriedly wiped the goo off her skin; it tingled just a bit, like tiny sparks dancing on her fingers.

"Can you tell me where Alchemeilla Hospital is?" she asked.

"Maybe," he said, still shoveling up the flowers.

She thought for a moment. He was infuriating, and eerily familiar, almost like Hoggle at their first meeting, outside the Labyrinth. He had been just as evasive until she "asked the right questions."

"How do I get to Alchemeilla Hospital?" she asked.

He paused, shovel mid-scoop, and turned to flash her a mischievous smile.

"You walk," he said, "It's a long way."

"How far?" she asked.

"Too far, but if you stop by the Historical Society and you're lucky, you might find a boat out back," he said, "Are you really going in there?"

She nodded, "I have to."

He sighed and shook his head.

"You won't get far," he said, "And if you do, you won't make it out again."

"What an odd thing to say," she said.

He shrugged and started shoveling again. The pile of dirt and crushed flowers was growing.

"Suit yourself," he said, "But don't say I didn't warn you. There are things in Silent Hill that can't be explained and can't be conquered."

"We'll see," she said, "But thanks for the advice. I think."

She started to walk, leaving him behind, but at two steps forward, he called out.

"Annie's Bar is on Bachman Street," he said, "And Alchemeilla is on Crichton. Watch out for dogs!"

Dogs? The memory of her own dog, a fluffy sheep dog named Merlin, flashed through her mind. He'd been her best friend while she was growing up, and she missed him dearly. Though he never would have hurt anything, his wild counterparts were another matter. Especially if they were sick or starving. She felt better about the hand gun hidden in her purse. If there were wild dogs loose, a gun would definitely help deter them from eating her. She gave her purse a pat and held it a little more tightly against her hip.

It was barely one o clock. Forty seven hours and counting.

Somehow she kept her pace down to a walk, her legs aching to run, to get out of the fog. Who knew what other creatures lurked in the shadows. The creature that attacked her in the church was small but could easily have devoured her had she been unarmed; a shiver shot up her spine, the image of her dead body all to easily conjured.

There were no easy to bend rules or even a clever villain to bargain with. Dangers untold and hardships unnumbered indeed! On her left was a flower shop, or rather, the abandoned remains of a flower shop. Dirty glass window panes lined with empty flower pots were all that remained of a once lush greenhouse. In front of the store was a table, more empty flower pots and dark, rusted shears. The weather worn corners of a paper fluttered beneath the shears.

She stopped. The paper was heavily stained but had been carefully folded in a way that was unmistakable. What luck! A map! She snatched it off the table, ignoring the shears as they fell off the table. She hadn't needed Jared's help after all. The map unfolded easily, and the inside was as clear and bright as anyone could hope for. Only two dark smudges and a hastily scrawled message marred the pages.

She spread the map across the table, brushing at the smudges. They were long and thin and squiggly. Her nail scratched against the slightly raised line, dry black flecks of stuff breaking off. It was almost like a burnt spaghetti noodle or a worm. The smudged, dry piece came loose at last, crumbling into dust.

Her hand hovered over the other half of the wormy thing. She could just make out tiny lines that bisected it, like the lines around an earthworm. She stared hard. It _was_ an earthworm, a dried, bisected, dead earthworm. It came free, falling to the pavement in one solid piece.

The hastily scrawled message was thick, lumpy, and black.

"_There shall the fire devour thee; the sword shall cut thee off; it shall eat thee up like the canker worm. Nahum 3:15._"

A heavy arrow had been drawn, pointing to a small square on the map called Lakeview Hotel.

"Lovely," she murmured, "I'll just have to avoid that while I'm here."

What the hell is a canker worm anyway, she wondered. She folded the map and tucked it into her purse. The shears lay beneath the table where it had fallen. She considered leaving it; what good was it anyway? In the distance, a low howl rose over the fog. She only had 15 bullets for her gun; it would be useless if she used up the bullets while more dogs or creatures remained.

The shears fit snuggly next to the gun.

(A/N: The conversation with Jared is based entirely on the first meeting between Sarah and Hoggle. His first line of dialogue is taken directly from the movie.)


	4. The Chase

As she neared the corner of Neely and Katz, she heard the footsteps. But they weren't the sluggish, dragging gait of the church monster; these were the soft, quick steps of a child. Her stomach clenched and she took off towards the sound.

Praying.

She passed Neely's Bar on her right and a run down hovel claiming to be the Grand market, before a small figure appeared, blond head of hair bobbing in the fog. Toby? She pushed the notion away, chiding herself for her foolishness; he was safe at home with her father and Karen.

"Hey wait," she called out, hurrying to catch up to him.

The boy looked back at her, blue eyes narrowed, brow wrinkled with worry. His skin was pale but rosy and his cheeks were plump. He was definitely not Toby, she realized, taking in his dirty torn jeans and wrinkled Robbie the Rabbit t-shirt. He couldn't be older than six or seven while Toby had just turned ten.

The boy let out a terrified shriek and stumbled. Sarah tensed, her fingers twitching around the trigger as she turned, convinced another weird beast was at her heels. She was met with nothing but fog, and as she turned back to the boy, is eyes were locked on her, on the gun in her hand.

"No, wait," she said, tucking it into her coat pocket, "I won't hurt you. I-"

He scrambled between the Lucky Jade restaurant and the Pet center, the narrow passageway barely wide enough for his small frame to pass. She stopped short. The space was much too narrow for anyone else to follow.

"Please, I need your help," she pleaded, "My name is Sarah. I just want to talk to you."

He squeezed his way through the narrow pathway and other the other side, pausing long enough to give her one, long measured look before he disappeared around the corner.

She slammed her fist against the wall.

"Damn it," she cursed, "I just want to talk to you!"

But he was gone, a row of buildings blocking the way. Still, she could just go through one of the buildings and out the back door. Remembering the threat of wild dogs, she decided against the Pet Center and turned her attention to the door to the Lucky Jade restaurant. It was a dirty, unrecognizable color, stained with brown and heavy black marks. The door knob was rusted, but as she reached for it, the door swung open, creaking on weary hinges.

Inside was darkness, the scent of mildew, musty and overpowering. She grabbed the flashlight, flipping it on and angling it to hit the opposite wall. There were no windows, but there was one, lone door leading to what she assumed was a kitchen. The floor sagged, small, dark puddles of liquid stagnating in the low places. Tables and chairs were strewn across the room, bent, broken, and even some rusting in the puddles. Among the chaos were the shattered fragments of dinner plates and coffee cups and even a few knives, forks, and spoons.

Carefully stepping over the thresh hold and a porcelain salt or pepper shaker, she set one foot down on the sagging floor. The wood moaned a protest, but remarkably, held her weight. Slowly, she eased herself into the room and slowly picked a path through the debris. The light of the flashlight did little to aid her journey, providing the minimal illumination, though it did grant her a moment's relief as it shone onto the kitchen floor, which proved an almost shocking contrast to the floor on which she was presently standing.

The kitchen floor was white, pristine, with no damage, no pools of liquid, no broken plates. She relaxed, stepping firmly onto the dry, white tiles. One lonely window brightened the room, the glass panes dirty, beside it, the door and hopefully the way out. She took another step, in her haste to be free of the dank restaurant, stepping down hard with the force of her full weight.

The tile shattered beneath her heel, her foot sinking a millimeter. She froze, her stomach doing that familiar twitching thing it did just before something bad happened. The silence seemed to stretch on forever and then, the floor creaked, tiles cracking, shattering. She stumbled back a step, and at once, the floor was sliding out from under her; she was falling, hands clawing at the air, at the floor. Dust and pieces of wood and tile showered her as she hit the ground, sinking in fetid, dark water and muck. Her lungs, her muscles ached, but she had to force herself to stay still, letting the putrid liquid soak through her shoes, her coat, her pants. The smell, indescribable, made her gag as she fought to block up her nose, breathing through her mouth.

As the pain ebbed, she let herself move, carefully as she checked her arms and legs for damage. Nothing seemed broken, she decided as she bent to retrieve her flashlight. It had fallen into the muck, its light sparkling on something long and pale in the corner. Quickly, she wiped the flashlight on her coat and limped to the corner.

The thing was partially submerged in a pool of dark water, but as she angled the light, she recognized it as a slender bone, beside it a half decomposed skull, long, dark hair still clinging to the surface. She stumbled backwards, tripping as she moved and falling back into the muck. The flashlight tumbled free, splashing into another pool light dancing crazily across the walls.

The skull's empty eye sockets seemed to watch her; she knew how crazy that was, but she couldn't shake the feeling. As she scrambled to her feet, it seemed to follow her, waiting. Again, she grabbed the flashlight, searching for the way out, but the walls were smooth and gray. No windows, no doors, no crumbling spots or cracks or any point that could be broken away for an escape.

She backed into the center of the room, looking up through the hole in the ceiling. It was the only way out. No one knew she was here, except for the frightened boy, and who would think to look for her before Monday? A chill settled over the room.


	5. The Goblin

_The goblin stumbled and fell, one hand still clutching his goblin spear. His skin, once a healthy ashen hue, now wriggled with red wormy lines, slowly spreading over his body until he was a solid red color. He did not draw breath, and he lay silent and motionless. _

_One by one, the other goblins crept from their homes, gathering around him, whispering. One brave goblin inched forward, a stick in hand to poke his fallen comrade, but something stopped him mid-poke. He dropped the stick and scurried back into the crowd._

He was lightly drowsing on his throne, when the quiet woke him. It is a strange thing, to be disturbed by a silence, but over the course of his near infinite reign, Jareth had found silence a rarity. He opened his eyes slowly to the sight of a cluttered but empty throne room. Goblin and chicken alike had vanished with only a few scattered feathers and spilled mead the only testament to their all too annoying presence.

He rose, crossing to the window.

In the city streets below, a crowd of goblins and chickens had gathered in a circle around a tiny speck of red. The speck, he realized as he cast a bit of his magic out, was no speck, but a goblin. Or rather, it had been a goblin, but now? Something dark rippled out from the goblin's body, invisible and cold and definitely evil. It sent a shiver through him like an icy wind.

In a heart beat, he willed himself to the goblin's side, kneeling, ignoring the gasps of his subjects.

"What happened here?" he asked reluctantly.

His magic told him nothing, only that like a vile infection, dark magic had infiltrated the goblin's every pore.

"No one knows, your highness," came the reply.

The crowd murmured in agreement.

"What happened?" he repeated, eyes flashing, "Quickly now, or I'll tip you all head first into the Bog."

"He fell down," one of the goblins whispered, "And now he doesn't move."

"Skin turned red," another said.

"What's wrong with him?"

He frowned. He had never seen anything like this, and that alone he was hard pressed to admit. It was no illness he could cure, no curse he could banish. He pulled off his gloves, flexing his fingers before he held them over the goblin's prone form. The life force was gone, and yet there was something there. It rippled in and out of reach as though crossing dimensions or fading in and out of reality.

The goblins started to edge away, still whispering. Dark magic was definitely at work; but that knowledge would do little to help him reverse its effects. Rising with a flourish, he turned to address the crowd.

"From this day forward," he decreed, "You will not travel beyond the Labyrinth nor will you come near this creature. Do not touch him. Do not poke him. Do not light him on fire. Do not come near him, or even look on him."

The chickens squawked and scattered, feathers flying. The goblins gasped loudly, their eyes widening with fear as they scrambled back from the goblin's body and their king. Jareth smirked for a moment. Indeed, he was frightening.

But then...

Behind him, Jareth heard a low snarl and the scraping sounds of metal against stone He turned, deftly sidestepping whatever it was that suddenly charged.

The red goblin, no longer prone and still, stood hunched over, turning slowly, his eyes glassy and vacant, one hand dragging a goblin spear behind him. Slowly, it raised the spear, taking one step towards him. The spear wobbled in it's hands, and as the goblin lunged, Jareth willed his would be attacker head first into the Bog to wallow in stinky misery for eternity.

Or at least, that was what he meant to happen. As he hurled his magic, the goblin continued towards him, the goblin spear sinking into the flesh of his shoulder.

Jareth cried out, first from the burning pain, a sensation he hadn't felt in...well...ever, and then from rage. His magic failed. The stubborn goblin resisted his will, and a big bloody spear had invaded royal flesh. Wrenching free, Jareth kicked the goblin hard, tearing the spear from it's grasp before burying it in his attacker's brain.

The goblin sputtered and collapsed, dark blood spilling out around him, staining the cobblestone. Jareth fought to slow his breath, his chest heaving as he pressed one palm to his shoulder. Blood trickled down his arm. The goblins stared at him, at the dead goblin,a t the darkness staining their city street. It spread, red wormy tendrils reaching for them as they scuttled back out of reach, cobblestones cracking and aging as the curse invaded and conquered.

Something was terribly wrong, Jareth realized, and yet he couldn't seem to tear his gaze away. One of his subjects, braver than the others, crept towards the curse, stick in one hand. He prodded one of the tendrils, kneeling to get a better look. The other's cried out, shouting to him to get back, but he poked the tendrils, the cracked cobblestone a second time. The curse shot out, wrapping a bloody tendril around his arm, staining his skin red as he screamed, breathed his last and died.

The goblins ran, while Jareth, despite the pain pulsing through his body, teleported back to the castle, to his safe haven, his bespelled chambers to tend his wound. Doubt, for the second time in his immortal life, flooded his mind. He saw a flash of that girl, the vision of her as she searched her memory, as she shattered his world. And then nothing. Darkness claimed him.


	6. Rescue

It was dark, cold, and her watch was broken. The careful _tick tick_ of the hands had been lost in the muck along with her dignity. Dark goo and filthy water soaked her clothes, the stench almost unbearable; countless minutes had passed giving her sometime to get used to the foul odor. If getting used to something that horrible was even possible...

She stood in the center of the room, beneath the hole in the ceiling, shivering as something dropped on her head. A shriek tore from her throat as she scrambled to the side.

"Sarah?" a voice called out, "Is that you down there?"

Fumbling with the flashlight, she shone the light at the ceiling, at a pale face peering down at her. For a split second she would have sworn he was someone else, someone regal and imposing and all too arrogant, but the moment passed, and she remembered the strange gardener from the edge of town.

"Yes, it's me," she called out, "Thank god you're here."

He wrinkled his nose.

"What are you doing down there?" he asked, "It's disgusting."

He unwound a long length of rope and tossed one end down to her, holding on to the other.

"It looked like a nice place for a nap," she said, "Why else would I lower myself into a filthy pit of nastiness? I fell."

She looped the rope around her waist, ignoring the smirk that spread across his face.

"So sorry to disturb you then," he said, "If you'd like, I could come back later?"

She snorted rudely.

"No, I think I'm ready to wake up," she said, "And thanks. I thought I'd be stuck here forever."

The smirk became a grin, and he slowly eased out of sight, the rope tight as he pulled her up from the ground. It seemed she hung for an eternity before he heaved her onto solid ground, but eventually, the edges of the hole became the crumbling, white room. And finally, she could breathe without the heavy, wet stench filling her nostrils.

Jared backed away slowly, inching into the other room.

"You smell terrible," he said, "Careful where you step. The floor's not exactly safe."

She rolled her eyes, "Really? I hadn't noticed."

He scowled, turning away.

"Don't act so smart," he said, "I'm not the one covered in mud."

She followed, stepping around the cracked tile, carefully following him out into the street.

"There was a boy," she began, and her fear returned, "I followed him but he ran between the buildings. I thought I could cut through the restaurant and catch him on the other side."

Jared glanced back at her over his shoulder, his expression unreadable.

"Why?" he asked.

She stopped, confused.

"What do you mean why?" she asked.

"Well do you know him?" Jared asked.

"No," she said, "But I thought..."

"What? This is Silent Bloody Hill," he snapped, "No wonder the kid didn't stop to shake your hand. If something came crashing at you through the streets, shouting and carrying on, you'd run too. If you were smart, though to be honest, I'm beginning to wonder."  
She bit back a retort.

"But he's so young," she said, "It's too dangerous. The creatures..."

Jared shook his head.

"I wouldn't worry about him," he said, "Sounds to me like he knows his way around, and besides, this place isn't the same for everyone. I've seen kids here before, and they never seem to have any trouble. The monsters don't even give 'em a second glance."

He wound the rope back into a loop, slid his bag off his shoulder, and tucked the rope inside carefully. Something about what he'd said didn't sit well. Somehow, she could accept the idea that a place could change, could adapt to whoever walked its streets. The labyrinth had been like that; it had moved and changed, and left her head spinning. But Silent Hill? It was rotten to the very center; no one could be safe here. Not even the most magical, powerful man or woman in existence.

"How is that possible?" she asked, "This place is evil. Evil preys on the innocent. I've seen it. That boy is in danger; and I need to find him before something else does."  
But Jared only shrugged.

"Listen," he said, "I'll do you a big favor. I'll take you back to the edge of town. This place is too dangerous for you."

She shook her head.

"No, "she said, "I'm not giving up. What kind of person would I be if I left knowing that little boy was lost here? I'm not leaving him, and I'm not leaving until I have Laura's Birth Certificate in my hands."

"Laura?" he asked.

"She's the reason I'm here," Sarah explained, "I'm her case worker, and I've been working for her adoption for the last year now. The only thing holding everything up is a missing birth certificate."

"Laura," he repeated.

"Her mother owned a small bar in town," Sarah added, "Called Annie's Bar."

He opened his mouth as though he meant to say more, but abruptly stopped, a smile spreading across his face.

"Alright," he said, "I'll help you find him. Or I'll take you as far as I can anyway, but if you get yourself killed, that's all on you. I only ask one thing."

She nodded.

"That's fair enough," she said, and for the second time the feeling of deja vu hit her.

She could almost see Hoggle limping along in front of her, could almost hear his voice.'_I don't promise nothing, but I'll take you as far as I can. Then you're on your own, right?_' She'd given him a cheap, plastic bracelet to seal the deal, and yet, for some reason, she doubted it would be that easy this time.

"What do you want?" she asked.

The smile was gone as he stared her down; goosebumps popped up on her arms, the hair prickling on the back of her neck.

"I'll let you know," he said.

He started off down the street before she could protest.


	7. Brookhaven

"It is not the healthy who need a **doctor**, but the sick. I have not come to call the righteous, but sinners."  
Mark 2:16-18

Sarah stared at the rusted iron gate, her nose burning from the sickly sweet scent of death. Her companion had led her in and out of alleyways, through overgrown backyards, and right up to the wrong hospital gate. A crooked sign hung above the door; faded red letters clearly spelled out, 'Brookhaven'.

"Wait a minute," she said as Jared stopped to unlock the gate.

He ignored her, his fingers deftly maneuvering the half rusted lock and key until there was a loud click. The gate creaked open on reluctant hinges.

"This is the wrong hospital," she protested, "You promised you'd take me to Alchemilla."

The smell was stronger here, she realized. She pinched her nose and tried to breathe through her mouth as she scanned the fog for the source of the stench.

"We're stopping here first," Jared said.

"Why?" she asked.

"Because I want to stop here," he said, "I keep a change of clothes in a locker in the doctor's lounge, and you stink. I'm not taking you anywhere smelling like that."

She bristled under the insult.

"You're not exactly a rose yourself, buster," she said.

And he laughed, "That may be, but I'm not the one who'll be attracting scavengers."

Two dog sized lumps lay near the far side of the building, half obscured by the fog. Both were a brown rusty color with bits of smooth, white _something_ poking out of the surface. As she drew closer, her stomach lurched. Flies buzzed around the lumps in swarms, the dead almost unrecognizable mongrels. Their mouths, what was left of them, were split open wide to reveal two rows of jagged, deformed teeth. A perfectly formed hole rested between their eyes, the cause of death unmistakable.

"Who would do such a thing?"

The words were out before she could think about it; Jared stopped to give her a wry grin.

"They weren't ordinary house pets," he said, "Come now. Don't lose your head over a few monsters."

He was right of course; she knew that. Briefly, the images of the creature she'd killed in the church flooded her mind. Silent Hill was no ordinary town with ordinary creatures. It changed everything, altered it somehow until it was warped and evil. How long did it take, she wondered, for the town to take hold of someone, to change them.

Jared ducked inside, leaving her to scramble after him. She barely made it through the door in time to see him disappear around the corner. The floor squished beneath her heels but she hurried after him, unwilling to face the darkness alone.

"Don't run off like that!" she said as she caught up with him.

He stood with his shoulders hunched, his head bent as he wrestled with a door knob. She watched, wondering whether or not she should offer to help. Just as she was about to give in, the door clicked and swung open.

"That was odd," he said.

"What was?" she asked.

"Never mind," he said, "Let's hurry and get out of here."

The room was dirty but relatively well intact. The walls were yellowed and spotted with dark mold. The floor tiles were cracked and stained, and the furniture was torn and overturned. But still, it would have been usable. Jared hurried to the lockers on the far side of the room.

"Put these on," he ordered, tossing a crumbled up shirt and trousers.

The shirt was blue, long sleeved and buttoned down the front, and the trousers were ordinary blue jeans but far too long. As she studied them, the hair on the back of her neck prickled. She looked up, her eyes locking with Jared's.

"Well," he began, "What are you waiting for?"

"Turn around," she ordered.

He smirked.

"Why should I do that?" he asked.

He crossed his arms over his chest, his head cocked to one side.

"If you don't," she said, "I'm not changing."

"If you don't," he said, "I'm not taking you anywhere."

"Turn around," she ordered.

He shrugged, "As you wish."

She waited for him to turn completely before turned her back and shrugged out of her filthy coat, her hands trembling as she unbuttoned her blouse. Both shirt and coat were stained and encrusted with the foul muck from the cafe. She doubted anyone could get them clean again, and that smell! It was like rotten food or human waste or roadkill; every foul thing she could think of rolled into one could not truly describe the nastiness that clung to her shirt. She tossed it aside, wincing as bits of the blackness flaked onto her skin. She quickly slipped her arms into the sleeves of the soft blue shirt, hurriedly buttoning the front. In her haste, she skipped a button and had to start all over again.

"Sarah," Jared prompted, "Have you finished?"

"Just a minute," she snapped.

She held up the jeans, her heart sinking as the waistline proved to be much, much too tiny. Her own disgusting trousers would have to do.

"Sarah," Jared repeated.

"Alright already!" she said, turning to toss the jeans at the back of his head.

When he caught them, she realized he'd been waiting. Probably turned around to watch the moment she'd turned her back. A chill swept over her.

"You're a real creep, you know that," she said.

He shoved the jeans back into the locker. Shadows danced across his back, darkening, moving closer; it seemed to follow the cold, wrapping him and pulling her along. He turned back to face her, but her gaze drifted behind him. A single piece of the wallpaper flaked off the wall; it floated upwards as though caught in a draft, blackening and shrinking. Another piece followed, and another. The whole wall seemed to smolder and flake. The floor cracked and splintered, also flaking away in places.

Jared's eyes widened, his face paling. He stumbled towards her, his bony fingers catching her wrist.

"We have to run," he said, his voice cracking as he looked down.

Her breath caught in her throat as something brushed against her ankle. It skittered by on the ashen floor, almost too quickly for her to see. But what she saw made her stomach lurch up into her throat.

About the size of a large cat and the color of mud, the thing had six spidery, fuzzy legs and the body of a cockroach. But as it paused to turn, to wiggle it's fuzzy feelers in the air, it's eyes looked at her and it had the face of a man.

Distantly, she heard herself screaming. The bug creature scuttled towards her, fanged mouth open and ready to bite. Images flashed through her mind, of the muck pit at the cafe, the monster in the church, even being chased by the Cleaners down that long tunnel in the Labyrinth; it all merged and blended, warring for dominance in her mind. It all came together, blinding her for a long, cold moment until...

Her heel crashed down on the bug creatures exoskeleton. One. Two. Three times, crunching and grinding it into the ashen floor. Yellow bug goo splattered across the floor, and mottled bug guts squirted out from under her shoe.

Jared stared at her, a shocked expression on his face.

Then, he caught hold of her wrist, flung open the door, and bolted for the hospital exit. Figures appeared in her peripheral vision; women in dirty, white uniforms, twisted parodies of nurses and doctors. They had no faces, and they shuffled with their heads bent down at unnatural angles. The cold was unbearable now, and she found herself wishing she'd thought to grab her coat.

At once, Jared came to a stop, letting go of her wrist as he tugged at the door handle.

"No, no, no!"

He pounded on the door as it stuck fast. She slid her hand under his and pulled. The door groaned.

"Come on," Jared shouted, and he slammed his body against the door.

Footsteps shuffled behind them, closer. Sarah could hear a strange wheezing moan, growing louder. Jared pulled harder, straining until the muscles in his neck bulged and the veins pulsed out, throbbing.

The air behind Sarah's head moved suddenly as something narrowly missed her. She turned, ducking instinctively as the wheezing moan became a wail. A red streak raced towards her head, barely giving her the time to reach up, to block. Something cold and hard hit her arm hard, but she twisted and caught hold of it, ignoring the pain. One of the deformed nurses snarled and tried to pull back, to strike again, but Sarah held fast to the thing in her hand.

A hammer.

She jerked it out of the nurse's hands, ducking as the woman took a swipe at her with her free hand.

"Don't just duck!" Jared shrieked, "Hit her! Hit her!"

The hammer connected with the nurse's head with a sickening thud. The nurse lurched forward, clawing, her arms a frenzy of movement.

"Hit her again!"

But adrenaline had taken over; the hammer connected again and again and again until the deformed, mutated nurse collapsed twitching at Sarah's feet. She fought to catch her breath as Jared gave the door one last sharp tug. It creaked and groaned but it came open. They hurried outside, barely pausing to slam the door shut behind them.

It was then Sarah realized the sky was as black as coal. She shivered, leaning closer to Jared.

And, she thought as a bit of white coldness hit her face, it was snowing.


	8. The Creature

(A/N: I'm sorry about the late updates. I will eventually finish all of the stories I've posted. Once my brain stops rebelling...I still don't own anything in this story. It all belongs to Jim Henson and Co. and the Konami crew.)

He stumbled as they ran; she barely managed to catch a hold of his elbow and haul him back to his feet before they both tumbled to the cracked pavement. His breath came in ragged gasps, and sweat beaded along his brow. His eyes darted back and forth, searching the horizon for something, and though they were out of immediate danger, Sarah could feel his fear creeping into her.

Somehow, in the mere minutes they'd been in the hospital, the entire town had changed. The sky was black and speckled with thick flakes of snow. The pavement, though it was cracked before, now crumbled beneath her heels, chunks falling into the earth to reveal a latticework of metal beneath the streets. The buildings were a rusted red color, the surface wriggling with wormy red and black lines not unlike maggots.

The fog was even thicker than before, and the cold was so fierce it was almost a fire in her veins.

"What's going on?" she asked.

"It's the Otherworld," he said, "We've crossed over."

His voice rose sharply and his eyes were wide with madness.

"Otherworld?"

"We can't stay here," he continued.

His hands shook and sweat trickled down his face.

"Take a deep breath," she said, "Try to calm down."

He batted her hands away.

"You don't understand," he said.

"You're right," she said, "And later you can explain it to me, but right now, we have to get out of the streets. You're the only one who knows where to go; you have to stay calm."

His breathing slowed and some of the wild look faded from his eyes.

"Where can we go?" she asked.

He struggled to find an answer, his forehead wrinkling in concentration, but as he opened his mouth, a steady flapping sound began above them. Wind and sharp bits of ice struck her face; the flapping grew louder, closer. She started to reach for her purse, but it wasn't slung over her shoulder. Her heart flopped as she realized she must have lost it when she fell through the floor of that cafe. She didn't want to look up; she didn't want to see what monster lurked above them. The air above her stirred, and Jared screamed. He turned and ran, sprinting down the street and ducking into an alley.

"Jared!" she shouted, "You coward!"

Her head tilted up of its own accord.

Two glowing yellow eyes stared down at her, peering out of a gray-fleshed head. A sharp, jagged beak clucked together, and a thick purple tongue flicked out at her. The creature's body was scarred, and though it had no feathers, it was shaped like some sort of large owl. One of his shoulders oozed a thick, black liquid as though something had attacked and injured it.

It let out an unearthly shriek and collapsed at her feet.

For what felt like forever, she stood staring down at it, her heart hammering in her chest. It's breathing was erratic and labored and every so often, it twitched, mewling with pain. Despite herself, she found herself kneeling beside it.

Intelligence seemed to flicker in its eyes as it looked at her.

"Curiouser and curiouser," she said.

Gingerly, she reached out to touch the scarred flesh, surprised when it was soft and not slimy.

"You seem different from the other monsters. Things aren't always what they seem here," she said, "I wish there was something I could do to help you."

The creature shuddered and lifted its head. Its eyes seemed to plead with her, and she could almost hear it ask for help. If she just left it, some other creature would find it, maybe even the one that wounded it in the first place.

"There's nothing I can do," she said.

She stood, and the creature cried out pitifully.

"I'm not a vet," she said, "And you're a monster. If I did get you out of here, where could I take you? The government would just lock you in a cage somewhere for research."

But as it shuddered on the cold pavement, bleeding, she felt sympathy overcome rational thought. She tucked the hammer into the waistband of her slacks, and bent, bracing herself as she scooped the thing up into her arms.

"If you bite me," she cautioned, "I'm leaving you behind."

It closed its eyes and sighed. In the distance, a low moan cut through the darkness, making the owl-thing shudder and tense up. It struggled a bit, making her adjust her hold. Whatever prowled the streets was coming this way, she realized.

"You don't happen to know how to get to Annie's Bar or Alchemilla Hospital do you?"

But the owl-thing merely squawked, it's head bobbing weakly. The distant moan grew louder, and a chill crept up her spine. She followed the path Jared had taken, hurrying as best she could. He had ducked into the alley behind the Heaven's Night Club, and as she staggered to the club's back door, she was relieved to find he hadn't locked it behind him.

"Jared?" she called out, "Are you in here?"

She eased inside, shutting the door firmly behind her and locking it. There was no answer, but somehow, she wasn't surprised. He was the worst kind of coward, she decided. At least Hoggle overcame his fear. Jared seemed to wallow in his.

She surveyed the club with a critical eye. There were a dozen tables and chairs in various states of disrepair; some seemed sturdy enough to actually hold a bit of weight. Pushing aside empty bottles and old silverware, she cleared one of the tables and lay down the creature. It shuddered once and lay still, it's eyes half closed. The wound in its shoulder was not quite as bad as she first guessed, but it seeped a dark, foul smelling fluid that screamed infection.

"Just rest here," she told it, "I'll look for---for something useful."

She made her way to the bar; there were a number of assorted, unopened bottles that could still be of use. If she was lucky, there would be a first aid kit tucked away and unspoiled. Glass crunched under her heel, and the floor boards creaked. She hesitated, wondering just how sturdy the floor was. She took careful steps, easing her weight onto the old wood.

As she reached the bar, she forgot caution. She scrambled forward, eyes searching for anything that could be used to clean the owl-thing's wound. But there was no first aid kit carefully tucked out of sight. There was no clean roll of bandages or unopened bottle of alcohol to clean the wound. There were only a few bottles of old whiskey, a couple of coins, and some fruity health drink. She picked up one of the whiskey bottles; that at least could disinfect the wound. She twisted off the cap and took a sniff of the contents.

And nearly gagged. The bottle slipped through her fingers and crashed to the floor, foul liquid spilling everywhere. Whatever was in that bottle, it wasn't whiskey, and it smelled suspiciously like a combination of skunk and sour milk. She grabbed the health drink and hurried away from the stench. Turning back to the owl-thing, she opened the bottle.

It smelled a bit like cherries.

The owl-thing chirped and struggled to lift its head. It's eyes locked on the bottle, its purple tongue darting out of its mouth almost hungrily.

"You have got to be kidding," she said, "You don't actually want to drink something from this place. It could be poison."

She started to replace the lid, but the owl-thing squawked.

"You're serious," she said, sighing, "Alright, then."

She slid one arm under the creature and hoisted it up off the table; she brought the bottle to it's beak. But as she tilted it, the owl-thing turned its head away.

"Either you want it or you don't," she said, "Make up your mind."

She brought the bottle to its beak a second time, and again, it turned its head. She eased the creature back onto the table. It didn't want to drink it; she could understand that much. But why did it seem to want it? And what did it want it for? The bottle was brown with a white label; it didn't sparkle or shine. What other reason would make an unearthly creature stare at it in awe?

It looked up at her, holding her stare for a long moment.

"Help me out here," she said.

Slowly, deliberately it turned it's head and lifted it's injured shoulder off the table. It repeated the motion, chirping encouragingly.

"You want me," she began, "To pour a questionable health drink into an open, infected wound."

The owl-thing bobbed it's head.

"This just keeps getting weirder and weirder."

She upended the bottle over the wound, red liquid gushing over the creature's scarred flesh. It sighed and let out a moan of pleasure, it's eyes shutting lightly. She tossed the empty bottle to the floor and stepped back. For a moment, nothing happened. The creature lay still, cooing.

At once, it's muscles tensed, it's head rearing back as it shrieked. Tendrils moved beneath its skin, winding and coiling this way and that. Bumps rose along the surface, forcing through the skin and elongating like porcupine quills The center of the quills puffed out like feathers, and the ashen color paled until it was pristine and white. The creature writhed disappearing beneath the mass of feathery white. It seemed to shrink in on itself a bit, feathers smoothing until all that remained of the creature was a white, barn owl.

She couldn't move, couldn't tear her gaze away.

The owl lay still for barely a second before it started to glow. Tiny lights sparkled around it, dancing as the owl grew, stretching and twisting until the light blinded her. She looked away, squeezing her eyes shut as tightly as she could. Still, the light seeped in past her eyelids. The creature screamed, and the light pulsed.

And then, silence. The light was gone, leaving her to wonder what just happened. Dare she open her eyes? A soft and very human moan tore her from her thoughts. She opened her eyes, and who did she see stretched out on the floor?

Nestled under a white, feathered cloak lay one barely conscious Goblin King.


	9. The Reunion

For the longest time, he lay perfectly still, face down on the floor.

"Goblin King," she said, her voice cracking despite her attempts to hold firm, "Are you alright?"

His breathing deepened, rasping as his shoulders shook. All signs of the wound had vanished; even the dried blood was gone, but he couldn't seem to lift his head, or wouldn't. She found herself kneeling beside him, one hand on his back.

He looked up. His eyes widened as they locked with hers. A strange, unrecognizable emotion burned there. Her stomach clenched; whether it was fear or something else, she didn't know. All she could do was let the feeling wash over her as she met his stare. His lips trembled.

"You," he spat, wrenching away, "I should have known."

The veil dropped over his eyes, hiding the shock she'd read moments before. Only rage remained as he rolled away.

"Should have known what?" she asked.

She felt the heat burning in her cheeks as she stood.

"I should have known you'd be the one responsible for this," he continued, "What do you want this time? Is there another brother you'd like to wish away? Or a sister perhaps?"

She recoiled, stunned.

"No, I didn't bring you here," she said, "I wouldn't---"

"No, of course you wouldn't. You'd never wish a sibling away, not Sarah the spoiled. And where is here?" he interrupted, "What is this place?"

She scrambled to collect her thoughts. Though she had to admit it was a futile effort. In the years since their last meeting, he hadn't aged, hadn't changed except for a few stern lines set deep in his forehead while he glared silently at the filth around him. He was still gorgeous, still ethereal, and utterly terrifying in his anger.

"It's a town called Silent Hill," she said, "Or it was anyway, but everything changed."

"What do you mean changed?" he asked sharply.

She shrugged, "One minute it was an ordinary, abandoned town. It was empty and rundown, but it was relatively safe as long as I didn't go into any of the buildings. Then, all of a sudden, everything just sort of decayed around me."

"That's no surprise," he said.

The words stung, and though she desperately wished she could ignore it, his voice reverberated coldly in her skull.

"I didn't ask for you help," she snapped, "I didn't call you here. If you're just going to insult me, you should leave. I'll be fine on my own."

Some of the anger faded from his face.

"You didn't call me here to save you?" he asked.

His voice rose as though the thought was unfathomable; she shook her head.

"If anything," she said, "You called me here to save you."

He snorted.

"I highly doubt that," he said.

He crossed his arms over his chest and glared. The list of things she had to accomplish by Monday was steadily growing longer. First finding the birth certificate, then finding the strange boy, and now, getting a spoiled king to settle down. All this or loose her job. Her head was beginning to throb.

"Think what you will," she said, "I have more important things to do than argue."

"Oh really?" he asked, a cold smile gracing his lips.

"Really," she said.

"What exactly would that be?" he asked, "I know you like to play the heroine, but surely you'd have better reasons than that to come to such a dreadful place."

She sighed. This wasn't going to be easy, she realized. He was going to be difficult until the end.

"If you must know," she said, "I'm trying to find a birth certificate for one of my charges. If I don't find it by Monday, we won't be able to finalize her adoption. She'll be without a home."

He frowned, tapping his index finger against his cheek.

"Can a piece of paper truly hold so much power?" he asked.

She nodded, "This one does. I don't know why, but it seems like everything and everyone is working against this kid. It doesn't make any sense."

He was silent, considering her words.

"There's more," she said, "There's a small boy lost somewhere in the town. I don't care what Jared says, he isn't safe. We have to find him before something else does."

Jareth frowned.

"Jared?" he asked.

"He was leading me through the town," she said, "When you ambushed us, he took off."

Her eyes widened. He was out there all alone; so what if he was a rat? He didn't deserve to be eaten by a mutated dog.

"He's out there alone," she said, "We have to find him too. He was terrified."

"So you do want my help after all," he said.

"What?" she asked.

"You said we," he said.

"What, no," she said, "When I said 'we' I meant me."

"What's said is said," he said, a bit of the old smirk tugging at his lips.

"The royal we," she continued, instantly regretting it.

He raised an eyebrow.

"You're really enjoying this aren't you?" she asked.

"Before I woke here," he said, "my kingdom was in peril, quite possibly by the same curse that plagues this village. If it's all the same to you, I'd rather spend my time finding a way to reverse the effects."

In her mind, she saw a flash of the labyrinth, distorted and crumbling.

"The Labyrinth is in danger?" she asked.

He gave her a long Look.

"What happened?" she asked.

"I had hoped you would tell me," he said.

It was like talking to a wall or walking around in circles. No matter the conversation, it went nowhere.

"I told you," she said, "I have nothing to do with---"

"I know what you told me," he said, waving one hand dismissively, "However, the fact remains that all was well until you came to this accursed place. I was in my kingdom; you were in yours. The sun was shining; there was no fog. Then, you came here and both our worlds crumbled."

"It isn't my fault."

"If that is the case," he continued, "Then I must be the one to blame. Someway, somehow, sitting quietly on my throne made the world fall down around us all."

She threw up her hands in surrender.

"It's no use talking to you," she said, "You've already made up your mind that I'm the villain in all this."

"Truth hurts, little girl."


End file.
